The Thrill, The Site, The North American Auto Show

January 10, 2011, By Craig J. Heimbuch 0 comments

Everywhere you go, they talk about resurgence, about rebirth. Detroit and its most famous industry are poised for a renaissance.

I arrived last night. The flight was delayed so passengers from Denver could get to Detroit to avoid snow in Atlanta. The airline industry has never made much sense to me. Still doesn't. But I'm here not to cover the ins and outs of Delta's scheduling. I'm here to cover cars, specifically American cars.

I got the call last week, an e-mail from a PR person for Dodge. "ManoftheHouse.com has been on our list," she wrote. "We would like to invite you to be our guest at the North American International Auto Show." That's the proper name. Everyone else knows it simply as Detroit. For a car lover the name is synonymous with discovery and carries the same weight as Christmas. It is where the world's great car manufacturers unveil their latest creations. It's where the auto industry steps out of their laboratories to unveil their latest creations. And it's a big deal, at least for those who cover it.

The hotel is new, the Greektown Casino in a revamped section of the city. I go outside and it's like one of those planned gentrification projects—old buildings put to new and calculated uses. It's still and quiet on a Sunday night despite the throngs descending on the city. Executives, critics, writers like me. Under the bridge connecting the 30-story hotel to the casino is a Greek Orthodox Church, quiet and abandoned.

I'm settling in to bed when my phone rings. My credentials have arrived. I go downstairs to retrieve them and get a look at my schedule. The ride pulls out at 7:45 a.m., the first unveiling is at 8:40 a.m. They run every 25 minutes for the next 11 hours.

Walking around the floor this morning, I see thousands of executives - old ones with grey in their hair, young ones with plastic haircuts and designer German glasses. All be suited. All immaculate. All poised to be a part of something new. The Germans are easy to spot. No need to look at their IDs. They are cool, refined. Confident. The Americans look tired. This last year has been really hard on them, but in their words hangs hope.

Chrysler President and CEO Olivier Francois steps up on the massive stage—50 yards wide and pure white aside from massive LCD screens behind him. The opening bars of Eminem's "Lose Yourself" play through the speakers that, until minutes ago, had been playing a vague techno beat. He starts talking about how he felt a year ago. His company failing. His confidence shaken. He left the show in his 300 unsure about where he was going, about what he was doing. He was unsure of the future of Chrysler. Then he quotes Eminem. "If you had one shot, or one opportunity to seize everything you ever wanted, would you capture it? Or just left it slip?"

Francois sets off talking about Chrysler's heritage, about Detroit's heritage. He talks about the feeling everyone feels—"on both sides of 8 Mile Road"—about the need to rebuild, to renew. He talks about the 300, the most awarded vehicle in history. He talks about how Chrysler had to grow up, to mature. He talks about how the company has to continually look forward without forgetting where they came from. A year later, as he unveiled the stunning and mature 300, he seems to wear the company's struggle like a badge of courage. He wears the city's disaster with pride. Some times, like Alexis de Tocqueville, it takes a French man to point out what's great about America.

When he unveils the new Town & Country minivan, he talks about how Chrysler is taking back the category it invented under the watchful eyes of Lee Iacocca. He talks about how the mark will own its greatness and use it to move forward, rather than rest. To unveil the 200, he plays a video of children reading media praise for the vehicle. They are the children of those who build the car, just up the road.

It's pride. And in this city, this place that has struggled so greatly, it feels as foreign as Francois's Gallic accent. There was not much pomp and circumstance, no chest thumping. Just a genuine feeling like the clouds are parting and the sun is coming out again.

I'm not one to be taken in by platitude. A good speech may make my lip quiver for a moment, but only a moment. It doesn't take long for me to come back down to earth. But here, in this city. In this moment, it feels more important than a speech. Detroit is on its way back, from what I can tell.

And to me, that feels like something new.